Tag Archives: Truth


When I drank I was able to talk to people and do things I would never do. But I have to remember most of the things I did were most likely done during a Manic Episode or even Psychosis. I hurt myself, my family, my friends, and strangers. I didn’t care who got hurt when I was drinking. I believed I was only hurting myself. This is a lie.

Every time I tried to kill myself I was drunk and it hurt or scared the people around me. Again I thought I was only doing it to myself. I didn’t think my death would matter to anyone else. I didn’t think my drinking which was slowly killing me mattered to anyone.

After my 5th attempt I stopped for some reason. I kept drinking but I binged instead of drinking daily. Somehow I thought this was better. It was worse. I would try to complete 7 days of drinking in one night. I did this for years. It took a toll on my body and brain.

I was forced to stop drinking for period of time and go to an alcohol treatment center where they examined me physically and cognitively. I didn’t pass either exams.

My liver was enlarged and I had severe issues with my memory. I also had diabetes and didn’t know it. My IQ was a 95. For anyone who doesn’t know, that’s not good. A 90 means you’re mentally challenged. To be fair I was given the IQ test while detoxing. I’m not sure why. When all was said done I went back to drinking. They told me all of these things that were wrong with me but offered no solutions. They didn’t do a Mental Health Assessment which I would have failed with flying colors. Telling me I have “The brain of an 82 year old alcoholic man” did nothing to help me.

What finally did it was watching my mom die. I knew I had to be there for my dad. Then I kind of fell apart. I couldn’t stop crying, shaking, falling down, and my speech changed. My dad was worried so I went to the Doctor who finally sent me to someone who asked about my family history, my feelings, my fears, how I felt on a daily basis, all the right questions. I finally received a diagnosis and understood why it was I felt the need to drink and I stopped.

It hasn’t been easy, it hasn’t been fun, it isn’t supposed to be. You do have to work at it. When you mental illness and addiction you are harder to treat. There are so many Doctors that just don’t want to handle both or don’t know how. Now throw in Kidney Failure and your chances of finding a Doctor willing to help you goes down even more. I do what I can. I’m not always positive and I know this. I’m working on it. I’m trying not to compare myself to others. I have the hardest time with not blaming myself for everything. This is my biggest issue and it will be the toughest to deal with but if I want to actually live my life than I have to find a way.e8000a56cf151c641cb649d32dab7b0d

When I see Steven Tyler perform “Amazing” in this video on YouTube it makes me cry. He shows so much emotion ranging from deep sadness to great joy at being alive.


Bullying started early for me. I went into puberty at a very early age, I had breasts before the rest of the girls which also came with hormones and everything else. Having adult breasts at the age of 10 isn’t as good as it might sound to some people. Boys at that age are not ready for breasts and are still at the “Girls are icky” stage.

It didn’t help that with puberty came acne, glasses, and weight gain. I was also the tallest and heaviest girl in my class. My twin sister wasn’t having the same problem.

A group of kids called me “Dino” after the dog on the Flintstones. My first name is close to Dino. Every piece of paperwork had your last name first. My last name has to do with food in a way. When it was called out first everyone laughed and said that must be why I’m so fat and ugly.

There were not many days where I wasn’t tripped, called names, had chairs pulled out from under me, spit on, or ignored.

I began drinking at 16 and went to parties with a group from another town. They were older. A few were from the town I lived in and went to school in. There were nights where I was bullied at parties and would lock myself in my car where I cried myself to sleep. These parties were up an old dirt road called “Purgatory” that the police never found out about. Purgatory was a good name for it.

It’s where I thought sexual acts equaled someone liking you or a way to get someone to like you. I would take many years for me to realize that sex and love are two different things.

It’s also where a darker side of myself started to emerge little by little.

If you are mistreated and told you are nothing for long enough you start to believe it. When you’re Bipolar and don’t know it and an alcoholic you can turn that hurt and pain into something else at times.

There were times when I was drinking where I felt cocky, almost better than everyone, like I could take on the world. Situations became really bad, really fast on these nights. I remember one night J’s grandfather had passed away and he was depressed. But as usual there was a group of loud idiots in the living room. I left him in his room and went to tell them to be quiet. A girl I didn’t know said “F*ck you! Who are you anyway, you fat c*nt.” That didn’t sit well with me. At the time I loved J and I knew what it felt like to lose someone close to you. He had no one to take with him to the wake so he asked me because he knew I had manners and could speak respectively to adults. So I to be fair I asked the girl to repeat herself in the hope that the people with her who knew me would tell her to shut up. Nope. So I punched her in the face. She was very quiet after.

I’m not proud of any of the things I’ve done but in a way I miss that person could stand up for themselves and say what they wanted. Instead of this person who starts to stutter and shake at loud noises, heavy footsteps, angry men’s voices, and cries at everything.

I usually didn’t get into physical fights with other females because I didn’t think it was fair in my mind. I thought because of my size it wasn’t fair. Not to mention it was mostly men who did the most damage. I did fight a lot of men for good reason but violence isn’t really the answer. One day you will meet someone bigger and badder than you are, and on that day no one will help you, some will think you deserve it, they won’t know what you’ve been through your entire life.

In the end you’ll go back to being the frightened child you used to be but this time it will be much worse. This time you will have memories of the things you did and the worst that was done to you.

If someone had intervened when it all started maybe things could’ve been different. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad now. I don’t know. I do know that when an adult notices something is a little off with a child they should go with their gut. You don’t have to call in Children’s Services but maybe observe their behavior or talk to their teacher.

If nothing is said than nothing can be done. And where does that leave them as an adult?



As a person with Bipolar Disorder I have no control over the weather and the weather can’t be “bipolar”. I was a little hurt to see this on someone’s Twitter page that I respect. The man support’s charities for abused women and isn’t an ignorant person so I had a hard time with this one. Am I really that offended? Not really. But only because I’ve had so much worse said to my face directly.

I wouldn’t want my worse enemy to go through what I have had to go through for most of my life. It has actually gotten worse since my diagnosis. When you are diagnosed you expect help or relief. When 6 years go by and you are now not leaving the house, jumping at any loud noises, your stuttering isn’t even stuttering anymore it’s gibberish or nothing comes out at all, the ache in your chest feels like a hand grenade landed there and thoughts run wild in your head non stop, people have stopped answering your calls and texts, the person you live with can’t hear you and you can’t repeat yourself, you destroyed any chance at a normal life, you are scared no one will be with you in the end, all you think about are the ends that you had to witness, that broke you until you couldn’t be put back together again.

I’m physically ill and can’t find a doctor. All they see is a “crazy” person. Until it’s almost too late. Like last time. Why? Because in the real world I don’t matter. “Oh, you say there’s swelling in your brain? You should talk to your Psychiatrist about that.”. Last time I checked a PSYCHIATRIST is different than a f*cking NEUROLOGIST! And why doesn’t anyone know about Genetic Testing to see what medications would work best for your Mental Illness??? DOCTORS DON’T READ RESEARCH ARTICLES OR MAGAZINES?

Yup, it’s great being Bipolar. No more friends, my family hates talking to me, my brother in law refers to me as “People like you” and doesn’t really want me around my nephews, my twin sister even avoids me, I cry almost everyday and then I have feelings of anger or wanting to disappear. I do nothing, I say nothing, it’s all nothing. But at least I affect the weather.bipolarweather_0



To Tell The Truth The Whole Truth And Nothing But… (Sensitive Material Please Be Respectful)

Because of the press conference recently given by Vice President Pence I have decided to discuss a private and deeply sensitive matter that I have gone through. I can no longer sit back and just say “I agree” with the side that represents my view. I feel a need to explain why I have the view I have. This will be difficult to write and probably difficult for some to read. I understand that but I feel it’s necessary.

As some people know I am diagnosed as Bipolar with Conversion Disorder, General Anxiety and Social Phobia. I wasn’t diagnosed until I was around 36/37 years old but had these problems from a very young age.

Many Doctors missed the correct diagnosis. I started drinking at 16/17 and was a daily drinker by 18/19. I would start to have the shakes by 5 p.m. and would go to a bar that knew me and served underage people. I couldn’t hold a glass, mug, bottle or can, so the bartender knew to put my beer in a mug with a straw and push it towards me so I could just bend my head down and sip until the shakes stopped.

When you are young with Bipolar Disorder and using alcohol to self-medicate the results can be life altering. The decisions you make while manic and drinking are decisions you would never ever normally do. The spending sprees, irrational decisions and promiscuity. The last one is complex. Part of it was alcohol, part of it was if I was manic, part of it was to prove my self worth, part of it I don’t remember if I had a choice because I blacked out.

When I was 20 and a full blown alcoholic I found out I was pregnant. I had thought of keeping it. My best friend sat down with me and talked to me honestly. I already knew on my own what she was saying. I drank daily and wasn’t sure if I could stop at that time, I wasn’t 100% sure who the father was (it was between 2 people) and neither one of them were fit to be around children, I didn’t want to be on Welfare living on my own with a baby. I had seen so many girls at that time who had children and partied every night. I didn’t want that. The thing was no one could tell how much my drinking and the father’s drinking would have an effect on the baby. My parents were against me keeping the baby right from the start.

The deck was stacked against me. In the back of my mind I always knew I was different. I just didn’t know how or why. I wanted children but only if I was in a stable relationship where a child would be loved by two parents and there would be financial stability. I couldn’t offer any of that. So I chose to terminate the pregnancy.

The experience was extremely difficult. The picketers yelling and throwing things at me were bad enough. They had also poured some type of glue in the locks of the building where Emergency Vehicles would come and go. So if something happened a woman would most likely die because they destroyed the locks. How Pro Life of you.

I won’t walk you through the procedure but it wasn’t pleasant. Leaving was worse when I still a little groggy and a man asked me if I was okay and I didn’t realize he was one of the protesters. I made the mistake of thinking he was a kind stranger. Instead he called me lovely names as I stood there and cried until my mom tore him a new asshole and we left.

Hindsight is 20/20. My life only went downhill from there. My Bipolar Disorder continued to get worse as time went on. My entire life did. Even after my diagnosis things have not gotten much better. There is no way I can think of that I could’ve made it work. My mom would’ve helped but not long after she was diagnosed with Lung Cancer. It doesn’t mean I don’t wonder about it or grieve. I went through early menopause at 39 and my chance of ever having children was taken away. Sometimes I wonder if it was a punishment. But I know, my family knows, my best friend knows, that there was no way I could’ve had a child at that time or if I would’ve stopped drinking.

There is a lot of trauma connected to the entire situation. The fact I’ll now never have children hurts. What other people don’t realize is that it’s deeper than that. At 44 I’ve never been in love, my dad has, my sister has. They don’t understand the ache and feeling of loss I have most of the time. They’ve both had families and I never will. It’s something they both take for granted and I sometimes can’t stop crying because I see the future and it’s a lonely one.

I don’t agree with using abortion as a form of birth control. I have unfortunately known people who have had several abortions. Once I can understand, more than that is a little iffy. I don’t feel that a group made up of mostly older men should have a say in anything I do with my body specifically when more than half the time the man who took part in the procreating wants nothing to do with the woman or the issue at hand when they find out.

There are many reasons women go to Planned Parenthood. The women who go there for the termination of a pregnancy do so for many reasons. Some have been abused, raped, or are too poor to have another child. Until you have been in someone else’s situation how can you judge them?


KIND OF ROTTEN AND INSANE (A Look Inside My Thoughts) *Enter at own risk

Lately I’ve been struggling with trying to use the correct terminology and phrasing so as not to offend anyone. This is exhausting and I will have Carpel Tunnel soon. I am Bipolar, I am an Alcoholic, I have a form of PTSD that is hard to explain, I have multiple health problems that even I don’t understand.

If I personally have what I’m discussing than I shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells talking about it. Too many people get upset because I say I am Bipolar. Implying that I let Bipolar Disorder define who I am. Doesn’t it? Really think about it. Due to recent information from my Doctor, “The Team” estimates that I probably started to exhibited signs of Bipolar Disorder as early as 9 years old. I hadn’t told him about rocking back and forth or banging my head when I was little until our last session. He actually wants to do some testing to make sure I have the correct diagnosis or if another diagnosis needs to be added. YAY!!

I’m tired of being a science experiment. My thoughts are always dark. They always have been. Don’t get me wrong, some are humorous, but still dark. Only I would find them funny.

Even my choices in Movies and TV are dark. I have a tendency to always pick Action/Drama/Revenge themes. Anything else I get bored. Give me John Wick, Banshee, Gladiator, Justified, Vikings, In a Valley of Violence, Happy Valley, The Magnificent Seven, Unforgiven, and it goes on and on. If there’s a dog involved like in John Wick, forget it I’m in.

Most of my favorite songs are dark. I never listen to “happy” music. I find comfort in the darkness of things. I don’t know why.

On the other hand I also feel too much and I hate it. There are times I wish I could rip my heart or brain out because the pain is so bad it becomes physical.

I walked in to the kitchen earlier to clean near the bird cages. I said hello to both birds like I always do. When I looked at our Sulphur Crested Cockatoo I saw she had a hole in her chest like she had been shot. I felt sick. I tried to keep her calm so I could get a better look at it. I needed to know if she did it to herself or if there was something in her cage. I told my dad who just sat there and did nothing. They are his birds. I understand he had dialysis today but if a guy came to the door wanting to show or talk pigeons you can bet your ass he would’ve gotten off the couch.

I have a magnifier with a light that I used to look at the wound. I didn’t need the magnifier just the light. When I was done I put my head on the table and cried. No, I didn’t just cry, I sobbed uncontrollably. I then went to my dad and told him “If she did that to herself, YOU WILL HUMANELY EUTHANIZE HER, DO YOU UNDERSTAND? And you will get up and look at the wound NOW!”. Do I like talking to my dad that way? No. But I refuse to let any animal suffer because of an owner’s ignorance or neglect.

When a bird plucks out it’s own chest feather’s it isn’t good to begin with. But she was doing okay. If a bird goes as far as self injury like pecking a giant hole in it’s chest, that is a completely different matter. At this point the bird is usually too far gone to be helped. This is my father’s fault. He won’t listen, he won’t let anyone else help him, and his pride will not only hurt his health but every living thing around him.

I feel like I need to do something away from this environment. But I might need a car. Priorities suck. Screw ’em. I’m not sure how much more I can take. My birthday is coming up, it’s never celebrated, just like Christmas wasn’t, the anniversary of my mom’s death is also coming up, the next few months are always my hardest and this year I’m not sure how I’ll do. Physically I’m not well and losing weight which means I’m not absorbing all my meds correctly. There’s a constant dull ache in my head and I have to tell myself to unclench my jaw every 20 minutes.

Oh well, Happy New Year! Here’s a pic of my cookies.img_20161230_110806_538.jpg


There are a number of people leaving AA and other programs meant to help with addiction to seek a “Holy Grail” of sorts. It’s the belief that if you follow a new and different way you will be able to drink in moderation successfully.

What is “Moderate Drinking”?

The scientific community has been doing extensive research concerning this subject and came up with the following definition.

Moderate drinking consists of no more than 3 to 4 “standard” drinks per drinking episode. No more than 9 drinks per week for women and 12-14 per week for men.

A “standard drink” is equal to the following:

  • a 12 oz. beer with 5% alcohol
  • a 5 oz. glass of wine with 12.5% alcohol
  • a 1.5 oz. of 80 proof liquor 40% alcohol

Moderate drinking also takes into account how FAST you drink and keeping your blood alcohol level below .055. (.08 is the DUI/DWI limit in the U.S.)

Supposedly Moderate Drinkers do not drink to get drunk. It states that some heavy drinkers who have had problems related to their drinking can learn how to “moderate” their drinking. Drinkers who have the most success believe that alcoholism is a bad habit and not a disease.

There is a “Chances of Success Test” you can take on the website for free. (moderatedrinking.com)

I did take the test but answered the questions as if I were NOT in remission/sober. They at least gave an honest answer. My results recommended that I abstain from all alcohol use. So much for moderation.


They have been researching and analyzing data for years. Their recent conclusions? Most “alcoholism” looks less like Leaving Las Vegas and more like your average frat party attendee or work colleague. They also came up with “22” as the average age of onset for alcoholism.

43,000 people were questioned and studied based on the DSM-IV criteria for alcohol dependence. The DSM-IV uses preoccupation with drinking, impaired control over drinking, compulsive drinking, drinking despite physical or psychological harm, tolerance and/or withdrawal symptoms.

There have been some recent findings that are puzzling. I’m not sure how I feel about them. But I will give them anyway.

About 70% of affected persons have a single episode of less than 4 years. The remainder experience an average of 5 episodes. It seems there are two forms of alcohol dependence: time-limited and chronic.

They also found that 20 years after onset of alcohol dependency about 3/4 of individuals are in full recovery. More than half of those who have fully recovered drink at low-risk levels without any problems.

Around 75% of people who recover from alcohol dependence do so without seeking any kind of help including any type of program.


If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, etc. I think you still have to go back to that number one question “Why did I start drinking?”. I think if you don’t you will most likely find yourself in the same situation. Is it possible to manage your drinking? Maybe. Is it worth it to try? I don’t know. I do know that I hurt many people with my drinking. I lost friends because of my drinking and lost friends because I stopped drinking.

I will be honest and say that on my last vacation my Aunt bought me these little Pear/Green Apple wine spritzers. I didn’t look at the can and thought it was soda. I was halfway through when I felt full. I wasn’t eating at the time. I just felt an “ick” feeling. I couldn’t drink anymore of it. I wondered why because I can usually drink a lot of soda. That’s when I looked at the can. I didn’t say anything to her because I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. The only reason I could only drink a little bit of it is because I’m on Topamax. Topamax is one of my mood stabilizers but they also use it for people who drink. Would I have kept drinking if I hadn’t been on that medication? Most likely.

I am one those people who has tried several times in the 20 years I drank to stop drinking with a program or group. It never worked for me. Finding out why I drank and finally being diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder is what worked for me. And I do not count my 6 sips of spritzer that I was too stupid to realize was wine spritzer. I still have over 8 years of remission. Hey, I never drank wine in my life. I only drank beer and hard liquor. I remember when we had 100 proof Firewater we would put in the freezer. When you did shots it came out like cold sludge. How did my stomach survive?

I’ve known people that have gone back to drinking after 15-20 years of sobriety. They were dead within a year. Does that mean it would be like that for everyone? I don’t know. I can only say how it would be for me. I have to keep going until I close every bar and drink every last drink in the building before I’m done. So I think I’ll keep doing what I’m doing.alcoholism-1



Truth time. I find myself feeling jealous and angry way more times than I would like. It’s my own fault. I realize that. I had unreal expectations and I have to admit there were reasons I never lost weight previously. None of these reasons were medical.

There was a part of my diseased brain that thought if I could only be “skinny” my life would be perfect.

There was a bigger part of my diseased brain that thought “what if you lose weight and still no one loves you? Or you’re still treated like dirt and stay alone?”.

There was a part of my healthy brain that said “let’s not find out”.

I watched the people around me, taking in every detail, mannerism, and personality. I tried to mimic what was successful for other people. You can only do that for so long before you lose yourself. I lost myself and became someone I didn’t recognize. I still don’t recognize.

With each person in my life I have to be someone different. I have to try hard to remember what I can talk about and what I can’t. I have to know who I can be honest with and who I have to pretend with. The honest side has just gone to 0 as of an hour ago.

I talked to my best friend W about an hour ago. I know in the last few years she doesn’t want to hear anything “negative”. This means health issues, family problems, world wide problems or causes, nothing. This leaves her yard, her cats, her job, and her car. Today I told her I was considering a trip back to L.A. in December. She wanted to know why. I told her she didn’t want to hear negative stuff on a Holiday. She said to tell her. I told her it’s been stressful with my Dad and sister, I was going to continue but she cut me off.

She said “Instead of running or going on vacation every time and wasting money why don’t you save it instead. It isn’t going to get better with your Dad you need to start thinking about moving out. Some us wish we could just “take a vacation” every time we get stressed”. I held my tongue but I was furious. She squirrels away her money like Howard Hughes never letting anyone know how much she really has. I know. It’s enough to buy a 2 bedroom, 2 bathroom house in cash. She doesn’t like to pay for anything.

I don’t like being questioned about how I spend my money and why. I don’t want to tell people that I might not be here in year or two so I want to do some things now while I can. As far as leaving my dad alone or putting him in a home, it isn’t happening. If I have to take little vacations to clear my head and relax than I will. It’s called a Credit Card. And as my dear mum always told me “D, You can’t get blood from a stone”.

Back to jealousy. I have 2 followers on Twitter. It shouldn’t bother me. It does bother me. This constant need to fit in and be liked. The hope that someone will say something positive about how I look is the hardest part to admit. Validation. I’ve never had it. Do I need it? Sometimes I think everyone feels they do at some point.

When I see someone I follow “like” or “Follow” someone that isn’t me but your stereotypical woman you would see in a Russian Strip Club for the mafia, fur coat and all, it puts a dent in your self esteem. I feel like an idiot for having any feelings about it at all. I think when I’m manic I get the idea that everyone should think I’m great. When they don’t I go one the defensive.

I miss dressing up, going out, and drinking. It seemed so much easier then. I know I hurt people, mostly I hurt myself. My parents were always worried about what I was doing and when I was coming home. The real damage was done to myself. I don’t like to say I’m in recovery or even sober anymore. Remission is my word. It doesn’t mean I’m making plans to drink, I would vomit right now if I did. It means if I did relapse there isn’t as much shame and guilt attached. You get back up and carry on. You don’t “start over”. This deters people from continuing their sobriety. When you tell them that one night erases 15 years and they have to start over some of them think “Why bother?”. That shouldn’t be the case. 15 years shouldn’t disappear because of 1 night. I strongly disagree with that.

Ok, I’ll wrap it up because I’m tired. I am thankful for my Dad, my animals, my sister, my brother, the love my mother gave me, movies, music, adult coloring, and Cocoa Pebbles.eba9ebed2c1b052a2e556344efa6b04f



Choked up, Fed up


I get negative feedback for my honesty and criticism of others when it comes to Addiction and Mental Health. I won’t apologize for my opinions. I have tried to be as honest as I know how to be with my OWN struggles. Maybe it isn’t fair to ask the same of other people. I just don’t think if you are in the public eye that you should out and out lie to everyone. You want to lie to yourself that’s fine but when you have people that look up to you and listen to you, that’s another matter. I know people want privacy. But when you make your problems public that changes.

I have lost so much in my life because I drank for 20 years. I have lost so much in my life by admitting I am Bipolar. I have even lost many things when I started my journey to sobriety. I have lost and lost and lost. I thought there would be more positives when I quit drinking and was diagnosed. There really have not been. It is a struggle I wouldn’t wish on anyone. The one thing that made me feel human I can never do again. There is no medication so far that has made me feel the way alcohol did. But the consequences are too great. I never do anything half way. I can’t have 1 bowl of cereal, I have to have 3. I can’t have 1 piece of cake, I have to have the entire cake. It’s how I’ve always been. I know this.

I don’t enjoy being alone but at the same time I feel I have to be. I’ve hurt too many people I love. I’ve lost too many people I love. That sticks in my head like a song on repeat. And no amount of therapy has been able to fix this. So I get up everyday and try to exist without hurting myself or anyone else. When I say it’s a struggle that’s an understatement. It’s hell. But I do it. And I write this blog in the hope that if someone else feels the way I do that they know they are not the only one.

Truth and Consequences in Writing As Me

I didn’t want to do this but I’m left with no choice at this point. My name is Dana Cook. I am a 42 year old Sober Bipolar woman from the East Coast New England area. My E-mail will say I’m Mary Smith because I didn’t set it up a friend did when E-mail first started many years ago. He suggested I not use my real name to be on the safe side and I just left it. I do have a twin sister 5 minutes younger than myself. I do have a half brother 7 years older than myself. My father is on dialysis because he contracted a rare virus probably from his birds, that went undiagnosed until it was too late. My mother passed away about 7 years ago from congestive heart failure, after surviving lung cancer and cervical cancer. Her name was Anna Jane Cook she was the best. She lived 7 more years with only one lung, and that one lung had emphysema but she fought and stayed as long as she could for me.

I am labeled “crazy”, “warning”, “discard”, and other things when my posts show up. I know this and it’s ok. I expect this to happen. DO NOT portray yourself as a great defender of the bullied, mentally ill, drunks and junkies in need, and then step on them when they are trying to do something therapeutic. If I’ve offended someone personally ok. As far as I know it has been nothing but praise. Now, my movie & tv blog is different. You are supposed to critique a performance or script and even then I do it in a respectful way because I love movies. They are my escape from this. The judging, labeling and shunning. Is this the real world or am I still in high school? Life is hard enough without this shit. There are some Bipolar people that score extremely high on an IQ test. It may take me 2 hours to write this but I’m one of those people. Or I used to be. I know who looks at my posts and who has other people look at my posts. It’s sad. I’m tired of being sad and looking for acceptance. So today I stop looking. If you read it fine you don’t also fine. It’s for me and anyone else that feels like me.

Like today is ok. Not great but ok. The neighbors complained about my dad’s birds so he’s mad. This makes my life difficult. He will break his back trying to fix it at 72 on dialysis and in 83 degree weather. Because he loves animals like I do. Me I want to cuss out the neighbors but can’t. I’ll just stutter and spit a little on them. But even that would be better than nothing. My dad is afraid because the neighbor has money. I said he also has a Napoleon Complex, and a need to sit on gigantic motorized objects for hours on end keeping me awake because his marriage is failing. My dad just looked at me with his mouth hanging open. When he recovered he said ” You are NOT TO GO OVER THERE”. I said I wouldn’t. I had my fingers crossed behind my back.

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